Hearth and Home
by replicasex
Summary: A series of domestic vignettes. Their life together, the way they work.


"Pizza okay?" Stiles asks, pulling a pan down. And Derek is smiling like he's genuinely happy to have frozen pizza for dinner, like it isn't going to taste terrible. And yeah, Stiles puffs up a little in pride. He is kind of a genius when it comes to frozen foods. He knows just what to add to make the meal feel like home. A little more cheese, when to broil. But still. Grocery store pizza should never cause happiness like this.

"Need help?" Derek says. And it's the most natural thing in the world. Derek moves towards him, his arms a circle around Stiles' waist. Derek is very warm. A mouth on his shoulder. Soft, then wet. Breathing together. The kitchen is quiet.

"Go clean up." Stiles' back is a line against Derek's chest. Derek huffs warmly on his shoulder. Arms tighten and release.

"Yeah, okay." Derek says and leaves.

Stiles slices a tomato silently. Uneven chunks for his half. He opens the fridge. Grabs the morning's sausage and crumbles it for Derek. He begins to hum. Derek is out of the shower before the pizza is done. Stiles is splayed out on the sofa, watching the clock on his phone kill time.

"Move over," Derek grunts. Stiles thrusts his tongue at him. Derek collapses onto his legs, wiggling and grinding on them.

"Asshole," Stiles grumbles and moves his legs from under Derek.

"You love me." Derek says.

"Yeah," Stiles says and it's true. They kiss. Derek tastes like toothpaste and the coke he just opened. His lips are rough and Stiles has had to buy lotion for stubble burn. They kiss again, a little warmer now.

The phone screams. The pizza's done.

Stiles waits patiently in front of the bathroom. Or as patiently as he can with a full bladder. "Derek," he says tapping his foot. "Come on." Derek opens the door and smiles a little. He's wearing socks and there's toothpaste on his lip. Stiles waddles in and pisses sloppily against the bowl. He sighs.

They're not morning people. Not naturally, certainly not with their lifestyle. Battling shifters conspiring to frame them has a way of keeping you in bed the next day.

It's late now, late enough to tell by the orange streaks that strike their floor. Dinner and breakfast have a lot in common lately. The pack's coming by today, Stiles thinks. They need to shop.

Stiles eyes Derek warily. He is not the best grocery shopper. That's charitable. He grumbles and lurks and sniffs inappropriately. No patience and a bad attitude and Stiles honestly couldn't love him more, it's swallowed his heart all up, this greedy love.

He makes a list, smiling the whole damn time.

Stiles has learned a lot of skills in the past five years. How to shoot a gun, which parts to aim for. He's learned in fits and starts, and usually only when he absolutely must. Scott taught him how to stitch his skin back together, even though it's safer when someone else does it. There's a scar running down his left side, thin and white. He's learned.

Derek is his first kiss. So it's Derek who teaches him how, offers him why. The rough brush of lips. Derek's are never dry. Werewolves, Stiles thinks, and kisses a little harder. He's bad at first. All tongue, no patience and no saliva control at all. Derek looks glazed after their first time but he didn't seem to mind. But he gets better, better at being they instead of I.

He teaches, too. Teaches the pack how to search, boolean logic and everything google. Which databases are useful, which forums to scour. Everyone's better off.

Jackson has a dangerous sweet tooth and Stiles teaches him to make brownies, the kind his mom used to make. Sits him down and forces it really but by the end Jackson is happy and fed and a little less alone.

He can't really help Isaac the way he needs, that's Derek's job, his mess to fix, but he tries to help Isaac with Scott. Teaches him a little of their hidden language made of invisible words and looks. They bond a little. And it helps them both.

When Derek and Stiles are at home they fight. Stupid things because both of them are stubborn and stupid and hopelessly in love.

Derek takes his hand. And that's odd, that's strange, despite how close they've become. Derek isn't a PDA kind of wolf, not even when they're alone.

"Stiles," He says and it's slow and soft. He says "Thank you."

And Stiles knows. He _knows_.


End file.
